


thing we lost in fire

by Crow_Dust



Series: Beyond the Silver Moon [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Complicated Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Phoenixes, Pre-Poly, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24004012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crow_Dust/pseuds/Crow_Dust
Summary: He feels at home for the first time in a long time. In the arms of a man who represents everything that took away his past life — fire, pain, eternal rebirth and beauty.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc & Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo/Charles Leclerc, Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Series: Beyond the Silver Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731100
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	thing we lost in fire

**Author's Note:**

> The first impetus for writing this work was received back in November after a drabble with a vampire!Charles by wonderful **redpaint**. Thank u <3 I thought about this universe for a long time, and finally decided to share it ♥
> 
> This is my first work in English, so if there are mistakes and inaccuracies, sorry.

_I don't mind,_

_If your hands a little cold._

_Cause I'm alive,_

_But I got no way to go._

Charles's evening is filled with fake smiles, insincere laughter, alcohol and barely contained boredom. But he knows his role perfectly well — a beautiful sad creature with a hard fate and an angelic face. His task is to charm, fascinate, and subdue, despite the approaching nausea from the halo of heavy perfume, flat jokes, and greasy looks that accompany his guests. So he smiles at the lady across from him, moved by her story, and looks around the banquet hall.

The charity event of the city's patrons is important for the clan to strengthen their position in the city. Lewis wanders around the room, dressed in his designer suit as if in armor, standing out against this black-and-white boring mass of people. Each guest gets a bit of his attention, whether it's a smile or a small exchange of remarks. Charles had always admired his game: all that ease and ease of communication when you really want to rip their throats out.

The lady in front of him сoos and talks about her daughters or about dogs, Charles is no longer sure, absently twirling his smartphone in his hands. One phone call and a pleasant continuation of the evening are provided for him, but these moonlit nights Daniel spends with Max, and Charles can only swallow it and keep quiet. Not for the first time. Something has clearly flickered across his face, because the lady in front of him pauses and asks about his health. He looks at Lewis, who nods at him, and Charles lets out a sigh of relief, apologizes to the guest, and, referring to the stuffy atmosphere in the room, rushes to the exit.

Charles smiles at the doorman, who kindly offers him a blanket, warning him that it is cooler outside. Charles just snorts — the blood in his veins has long been frozen, but still nods and feels a phantom warmth envelop his shoulders.

He walks down the driveway, lights a cigarette, takes a drag, and exhales a cloud of smoke with relish. Who would have thought that such a useless human habit could somehow dampen the eternal thirst for blood. Leaning against a rotunda column, Charles gazes thoughtfully at the nearly completed lunar disk that heralds the coming full moon — the eternal curse of werewolves and the delight of witches.

The phone vibrates in my pocket for the first time in a long evening.

At first, he wants to ignore the message containing only the address, but it looks so desperate, and unlike Dan's usually cheeky and playful messages that it makes him feel uneasy. This park is very close. He takes a look at the celebration outside the window, which looks even more cardboard if you watch it from aside, takes a last drag and walks away into the darkness of the night.

***

The hum of the city at night is heard in the distance, the fallen leaves rustle under Charles's feet, the cool night air tickles his lungs, and above his head stretches only the endless starry sky. He checks the map, realizing that he is almost there.

The night always gave him a strange sense of freedom. Even then, in a previous life, under the southern sky by the Mediterranean sea. In those far-off times, marred by pain, blood, and the smell of burnt flesh. The memories are so deeply ingrained in his subcortex that he can almost smell them. The heavy scent in the air is so clear that Charles breaks out in a cold sweat when he realizes that it is not an echo of his past. The smell is so bright, suffocating, and frightening that Charles starts to run, trying to fight the feeling of unease that has started in his chest.

Charles flies out into the moonlit clearing and freezes at the sight of torn bodies scattered everywhere, the smell of smoke and gunpowder in the air, and his stomach literally turns at the sight of charred to the bone human meat, even though his vampire nature is interested and moved his nose. After filling his lungs with the heavy metallic smell of spilled blood, he shuts off these thoughts and turns his full attention to the figure in the middle of this terrifying scene. Max sat on the ground, covered in blood, soot, and mud, swaying from side to side, not even noticing the presence of Charles. The latter took a couple of cautious steps towards him until he was directly opposite Verstappen, who was staring at a single point.

“Where's Daniel?" he asks in a hollow voice. The words rang out like a shot in the stillness of the night.

Max shudders and looks up at him, red-rimmed from bursting capillaries and spilled tears. The wet tracks are clearly visible on his grimy face, and his eyes are so empty that Charles shudders. Only now does he notice that all this time Max has been desperately clutching — a piece of bright burnt fabric with a painfully familiar crazy floral print.

Charles falls to his knees and pulls Max into his arms. They are not friends and never have been. All their conversations consisted of barbs and small talk, so they almost never talk — their bodies themselves say things they dare not say in the light of day. Especially after that night a couple of weeks ago: skilled hands, greedy lips and a sunny smile from Daniel Ricciardo.

His vision begins to blur, and he feels Max nuzzling his collarbone. Tears run silently down his face. Charles just removes the long-forgotten blanket from his shoulders and wraps it around Max, gently stroking his hair. His gaze is turned to the stars — burning spheres in the atmosphere that are higher than anything low on earth-and there is not a single thought in his head.

The moon had already disappeared behind clouds and changed its position when Max finally began to speak, moving away from Charles, clearly confused by the emotion he was showing. He tries unsuccessfully to wipe his face, and his voice is hoarse and broken as the answer to a question Charles has long asked falls from his weather-beaten lips: "He's not here”. Charles is silent. "He's not here. A flash — and he’s not here!” Max clutches a piece of cloth until it crackles. “He said he had a bad feeling, and I didn't listen to him. Why should I listen to him? I know better. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.”

Charles takes his hand, trying to calm him down. He can't pull off his usual trick, but it clearly works, because Max calms down and stops wailing. “Who are these people?" He nods at the corpses.

“I don’t know. Visiting hunters who decided to try their luck? I don't know.” Max starts babbling again, gasping for breath, squeezing Charles's hand so that he can hear his bones crunch.

"It's going to be all right, I'll take care of everything," he gently unhooks the bloodied fingers and takes Max's face in his hands, looking into his eyes. The gesture, embarrassing and intimate, crosses all the unspoken boundaries they have erected, as does what he is about to do. Max hated it when they used suggestion on him, but now he is glad of this deliverance, which gives him comfort and a ghost of hope. "Daniel is fine. He always comes back. Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Like this.”

Nothing will be good: from Daniel there is a pile of ashes, on his hands a couple of torn corpses of hunters and Max Verstappen on the verge of hysteria. He feels that he can hardly control himself, but he must get over it. For their sake. For the sake of itself. Charles takes his phone out of his pocket and dials Lewis, briefly explaining the situation to him. One less problem.

Charles stands up with a sigh and helps Max to his feet, who is clutching at his sleeve and not letting go. Charles looks at him in bewilderment until he says, in a barely audible voice: "Stay with me.

There is so much pain and loneliness in these three words that Charles's heart aches. In these three words, a simple request, but at the same time readable between the lines: _I can't stay alone_.

Few people have ever seen Max Verstappen at the moment of his weakness, and those who still witnessed the manifestation of his emotions will not be able to tell anyone about it. Charles, who knows all this, knows that he will regret his decision very much later, but nods and takes his hand, leading him away from the horrors of the night.

***

They rent a room in a motel when dawn is already red on the horizon. Charles immediately sends Max to the shower while trying to resolve all issues with the clan. The conversation wears him out, as does the unaccustomed unease in Lewis's voice. _Yeah, I'm fine, Max too, Dan.. I don't know... You remember Italy?_ Then his voice breaks and he pauses, watching the sunrise above the horizon while Lewis is understandingly silent on the other side of the phone. Night gives way to a new day, and his thoughts are deep in the past. The night of his death was also moonlit, starlit, so that the glow of the fire was reflected from the dark mirror of the ocean, and the air was filled with the sickly sweet smell of burnt meat. In its place, another night comes to mind: the same moonlit and bloody; mountains of torn bodies, the smell of burning, rage, and a sharp sense of loss for Daniel. Only then he, and not Max, was at the center of this terrifying installation that would cost him his freedom for years to come. He squeezes the windowsill so that the wood cracks, and flinches at the click of the door lock.

Max comes out of the shower, drooping, and immediately plops down on the bed, wrapping himself in the sheets and completely ignoring the presence of Charles. He pushes away from the windowsill and sits on the edge of the bed. His suit is irrevocably ruined, and there is blood and dirt under his fingernails. Charles chuckles bitterly, and then realizes that everything he has been holding back all this time is threatening to break out of him. He starts to shake. Feeling this, Max wraps his arms around the trembling body and pulls it into his arms.

They lie in silence for a few minutes, until Max gives himself away, wrinkling his nose: “You're dirty. There's still some hot water left in the shower.”

Charles lets out a half-laugh, half-whimper, poking him in the shoulder. However, a treacherous smile touches his lips, and he feels the corners of Max's mouth twitch.

“How can you be so calm?"

“Your suggestion must be working. You should use it on yourself, too. You're ruining the whole image of the hero in a flowing cape," Max teases, and then seems to realize something. “By the way, how did you know where to find us?"

“Dan send a text message with the address.”

"What?"

“Is something wrong?" Charles raises his head and looks at Max, who is frowning at the ceiling, clearly considering something.

"No, I–" Max stammers. “It just happened so fast. Flashes, screams, shooting. He shielded me from the bullet, throwing me into the trees, and I must have lost consciousness for a while, because when I woke up, people were screaming, everything was on fire, and Daniel wasn't around, so I kind of... snapped.”

He pauses, clearly not considering it necessary to continue. Charles is understandingly silent, allowing him to play with his hair. This thoughtless action began to lull him to sleep, and the exhausting night took its toll, so after a couple of minutes he fell asleep.

***

Charles is awakened by a knock on the door. Max tosses sleepily next to him, but as soon as a muffled voice comes from behind the door, he opens the door wide and freezes. Daniel Ricciardo himself is standing in the doorway, tired and rumpled, but with a permanent smile on his face. Max makes an indistinct sound like a growl, clearly torn between the desire to hit or hug, but the second still wins up.

"Bastard," Max says in a muffled voice into his shirt, obviously taken off someone else's shoulder, and then shoves him in the shoulder. “Don't do that again.”

"I won't, Maxy," he says, smiling contentedly as he inhales the scent of his hair. "Thank you, Charles.”

He meets the eyes of Charles, who is crumpling the sheets in his hands and once again feels like a third person on this holiday of life. Charles looks at Daniel's hands, smeared with ash but without any burn marks, and something clicks in his brain. The floating veil of mystery was finally torn away, burned on the altar of the truth that had been revealed to him. That's what's been bothering him all this time. Now the last piece of the puzzle is found.

“They came for you. They knew who _you_ were.”

"What they didn't consider was that I was going to have a werewolf with destructive aggressive behavior on the eve of the full moon," Daniel says casually. Max screams in indignation and shoves him to Ricciardo's ringing laughter.

"They came for _you_ , just as they did _then_ ," Charles repeats stubbornly, rising from the bed and looking into his eyes. It angers him that Daniel is always skirting the subject and joking, and after this night, when he was an unwitting witness to what a blinding rage over this man is doing to you, he deserved answers. Although Charles is almost sure that he is right in his guess. His grandmother had sometimes told him about these mythical creatures and their powerful force, but myths and fairy tales were just enough to keep them that way. A chill runs down his spine at what has flickered in the honey-colored eyes, just for a moment, quickly replaced by the familiar twinkle of laughter and something akin to relief.

“I always said I was a rare specimen.”

"On the verge of myth."

“Not without it,” Daniel just shrugs. “Have you already estimated how much you can get for me on the illicit market?"

“You can literally leave us with a handful of ashes. Do you think we're that stupid?” Max says, frowning at him.

"More mercantile," he grins.

Charles doesn’t understand how he finds himself in the bear hug of Daniel, pressed against the dissatisfied hissing Max. A barely audible "thank you" reaches his ear, and he lets go, pressing into it and inhaling deeply for the first time since he found himself in that damned forest clearing. Tart musk, bitter wormwood, wolf fur, and the sweet scent of blood wrap them in a cocoon, making their odors inseparable. And he feels at home for the first time in a long time. In the arms of a man who represents everything that took away his past life — fire, pain, eternal rebirth and beauty.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [nathanieldewalde](https://nathanieldewalde.tumblr.com/).  
> Russian version: [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9026459).


End file.
